Drina Prewitt & the Time of Sacrifice
by Lyta Padfoot
Summary: On hiatus. Tom Riddle, a troubled heiress, a wannabe seer, and Albus Dumbledore all become ensnared in the repercussions of one horrific act that just may invoke the ancient and mysterious Old Magic.
1. Drina's Interests

"Drina Prewitt & the Time of Sacrifice"   
_Chapter One: Drina's Interests_

October 31, 1943 

To judge by the Great Hall at Hogwarts, one would never know about either of the parallel wars raging across Europe and Britain.  In a time of black outs and rationing for Muggles, Wizards and Witches continued to feast on traditional favorites, a fact that inspired new Muggle-born first years to cast suspicious glances around the well-lit hall before attacking dishes they had not seen in years with gusto.

However, as each successive generation warns the next, appearances are quite often deceptive.

On the morning before All Hallow's Eve, Drina Prewitt rubbed sleep from her eyes as she walked up the steps to the Great Hall.  She paused at the top of the steps to adjust her wire-rimmed spectacles before crossing the flagstone floor to take her accustomed place at the Slytherin table.  To her right sat Meg McKinnon buried as usual in the middle of the morning _Prophet_.

Drina poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice and smiled down at the shiny silver badge pinned to her black school robes.  It was still difficult to wrap her mind around the fact that this was her seventh year and she, Alexandrina Prewitt, was Head Girl.  She was determined not to allow the butcher bill printed in the _Daily Prophet_ or the somber manner of some of her schoolmates to deflate her current mood.  Good cheer was a rare commodity in her life and she intended to savor it while she could.

It was only after she began munching on a bit of sausage that she realized something was amiss.  While Meg was usually the earliest riser of their Slytherin seventh years, Tom Riddle did not often trail more than a few minutes after her.  Meg always threw her paper to Tom when she was through with the crossword, before that he and Drina would often enjoy a lively discussion.  They were the only Slytherins in their year taking Alchemy and Ancient Runes and often forced to work together as few of their Gryffindor classmates would deign to collaborate on so much as a simple assignment with a Slytherin.

"The _Prophet_ says the Russians will recapture Kiev within a month," Meg informed her without looking away from her paper.

Drina shook her head.  "You know I don't follow Muggle affairs with the same passion you do.  Why don't you tell me about the crusade against Grindelwald?"

"If you don't enjoy the way I present the news, owl the _Daily Prophet_ about getting your own subscription.  The Muggle war is relevant to me.  I have cousins caught up in it - unless you have forgotten," Meg reminded her roughly, the paper shaking a moment as she turned the page.

"You don't seem to mind Tom's questions," Drina pointed out playfully, regretting her earlier words and hoping to steer the conversation away from mention of Meg's Muggle relations.  One of her favorite cousins was dead and another listed as missing in action.  The handsome HeadBoy was a far safer subject.  Drina was never quite sure whether Meg fancied him or simply found him interesting as a companion - it was difficult to tell with Meg.  She believed talking about potential boyfriends before the relationship was a fait accompli jinxed things.  Drina suspected another unspoken reason for Meg's reticence.  Every time Meg dated a pureblood, she was subject to snide comments and over loud sighs on the declining numbers and influence of purebloods.

Shielded as Meg's face was by the paper, it was impossible to see if any unusual redness was creeping into her freckled cheeks, but it was doubtful Meg was blushing.  As befitted a Slytherin, she was seldom prone to such overt displays of embarrassment.  "Riddle's an orphan."

"So am I."  The shorter witches reminded her friend.  Drina's father died of Dragon Pox the year before she turned eight.  She remembered him as the epitome of composure and strove to emulate him in that respect.

Meg snorted, "You, Prewitt, are hardly a pauper like Tom.  You can afford your own subscription."

"Too true," she said glancing down at her perfectly tailored robes and the expensive silver watch gracing her left wrist.  The watch was a gift from her cousin Castor Prewitt for being made Head Girl.  It was a surprise, especially from her Gryffindor cousin, and one of a kind.  Inspired by the serpentine bracelets worn by the ancient Romans the eyes of the snake were made of two cabochon topazes. To see the time one looked into the snake's eyes.

"And since we have just established that money is not a problem for you... care for a flutter on the success of the latest campaign against Grindelwald?" 

"You know I don't gamble," Drina grumbled into her pumpkin juice.

The paper lowered until the upper half of Meg's face was visible over the top.  Drina had the impression that the other girl's lips were twitching.

"You do not gamble with your money," Meg corrected as she rolled up the paper and set it on the table beside her plate.  "Where is Riddle anyway?  He's usually up by now.  Think Tom's decided to have a bit of a lie in?"

"He's probably off taking advantage of having a room to himself by making the beast with two backs with Rosier," Drina replied in her most casual voice as she reached across the table for the sausage platter.  She kept her gaze locked on Meg; she always found it easier to keep a straight face if she stared hard at someone else.

It took a few seconds for the meaning to penetrate Meg's brain.  When it sank in her brown eyes bugged out and she gripped the edge of the table for support.  Her mouth opened and shut a few times before any words emerged.  "Thank you for not telling me while I was drinking anything.  I'm amazed you can say that with a straight face."

"I'm a pool of unknown depths."  Drina quipped as she raised her goblet in a mock toast.

"Vanessa Rosier… and Tom Riddle?"  Meg shuddered delicately, "I thought Riddle had better taste than that.  And Vanessa!  The hypocrite goes on and on about how pure her blood is, how she only dates other pure-bloods, and here she is involved with a half-blood!"

"She's already gone through most of the pure-bloods she isn't closely related to."  As most purebloods were related in some degree it was helpful to either be very familiar with ones family tree or keep a copy of it close by to avoid accidentally snogging a first cousin once removed.  Vanessa was even stricter than most on how far removed a cousin must be before she would consent to date him.  Drina privately believed this was a familial preference and part of the reason the Rosier bloodline had not degraded to the extent others such as the Crabbes and Goyles had.

"So that's why she's involved with Riddle – lack of options?"

Drina shrugged, "Maybe she just wants the novelty of shagging a hero.  Or just enjoys having a boyfriend who doesn't have to kick his roommates out to be alone with her."

"Might not such a liaison harm her chances of marrying into the elite?" Meg looked at her friend hopefully.  Nothing would give Meg greater pleasure than seeing Vanessa's desire to marry into the top tier of magical families thwarted.  Her relationship with Vanessa had improved over years of enforced contact from outright antagonism to strained toleration.  Vanessa was easily the most beautiful witch of their year with her long red hair, legs that other witches would kill to possess, and hourglass figure that gained the immediate attention of every male who saw her.  Her demeanor promised much and delivered more – for a time.  She was a serial monogamist, seldom remaining longer than a month with any particular wizard.  With her taste for other witches boyfriends, Vanessa was not very popular amongst her own sex.  She was a social butterfly with brightly colored wings edged with razor blades.  Vanessa held high the banner of blood purity, delighting in the torment of those she deemed her inferiors.

"That would depend on the ripples the relationship creates, the public perception of how far it progressed, and how enamored the unfortunate is that she will eventually ensnare and wed.  Do not underestimate Rosier's effect on the male members of the population. She is a disease they do not want cured of."

"Very profound Prewitt.  Is philosophy your latest little obsession?"  Meg asked, tilting her head slightly to better look Drina in the eye.  Unlike the meticulous Riddle, the Head Girl was a more haphazard student.  It was her ability to recall almost every thing she read and her excellent writing skills rather than study habits that helped her earn eleven OWLs.  Drina devoured books: weighty Transfiguration tomes, Defense Against the Dark Arts manuals and Quidditch strategy guides were common topics found in her hand, but she also indulged in obsessions of the month.  She would find a subject and read everything she could lay her hands on until her interest burned itself out.  From this she acquired a mental crazy quilt of obscure facts.  Meg enjoyed teasing her friend about this peculiarity. 

Drina chuckled but before she could formulate an answer, Tom Riddle and Vanessa Rosier appeared from around the corner.  The two witches exchanged a look and wondered if even the strong willed Tom had been temporarily reduced to the intellect of a flobberworm after a night with Vanessa as had been the case with so many before him.

"Speaking of the devil," Meg muttered darkly.  She pulled her chestnut and phoenix feather wand from her robe pocket and set it on the table opposite the paper.  The half-blood girl was a far faster draw than Rosier and the other witch knew it.  Any conflict between the two would take the form of a battle of words.

As Drina studied the new couple, she noticed a distinct difference from the manner in which Vanessa's conquests customarily presented themselves in the morning.  Usually the boy turned up on Vanessa's heels with a glazed expression not unlike someone saved from drowning who has just discovered how miraculous it is to breathe air again. 

Tom, in contrast, appeared much as he always did.  Only his tardiness signaled any deviation from the routine.  Tom's robes - while betraying the signs of having been second hand and readjusted to fit his tall frame – were still clean and pressed as always.  Vanessa, on the other hand, appeared to be in a huff and her perfectly fitted robes were nowhere in sight.  Today she wore longer and more worn robes that were too long for even the leggy Vanessa, though Drina suspected they would fit Tom.  She exchanged a knowing glance with Meg before making room for the pair at the table. 

"New robes?"  Meg sang, raising an eyebrow at Vanessa.  "You might want to have that hem taken up.  It's dragging."

"Jealous?" Vanessa taunted as tossed a stray lock of dark red hair behind her ear.  "My robe had a tear in it, Tom was gracious enough to loan me one of his."

"Why didn't you just go back to the dormitory for one of your own robes?"  Drina inquired, layers of feigned innocence heaped onto her words.  She was perfectly aware that Vanessa was showing off by wearing one of Tom's robes.  Rather like a hunter displaying the antlers of a kill above the fireplace.

Vanessa looked away and did not speak.  No one really expected her to reply.  The Rosiers were one of the oldest Magical families in Britain and Vanessa felt their lengthy pedigree gave her the right to look down her poker straight nose at others.  The Prewitt's were respectable in terms of bloodlines, but far wealthier than the Rosier family who had lost their great fortune two centuries earlier.  They never forgot they had once been wealthy and that memory was one of Drina's favorite buttons to push.

With a final glare, Vanessa went back to the dorm to change.  She'd made her point.

Tom had observed the entire exchange through hooded eyes.  As he reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice, his robes shifted to reveal a faint rose smudge on the collar of his shirt.  Having spent six years in the same dormitory as Vanessa allowed Drina to recognize her housemate's signature lip-gloss color at a glance. 

"You might want to use a loosening charm on that stain before giving it to the house elves," Drina offered sweetly, gesturing to Tom's collar. 

Tom glanced down at the stain.  "Oh?  I'll have to try that." 

"Paper," Meg said throwing the rolled up _Prophet_ at him.  He caught it just before it landed in his eggs. 

"Thank you." 

Meg stood up and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt.  "I need to get my Herbology book before class."  As she passed Drina she whispered, "I just cannot let this opportunity pass so easily!"

When Meg was gone, Tom turned to Drina.  "I didn't know you had so much _concern_ for the state of my wardrobe." 

Drina shrugged.  Ignoring his true meaning, she did not want to point out that Tom's poverty would prevent him from replacing the shirt should the stain become permanent.  He already knew that.  The potions Vanessa used to insure the lip-gloss did not fade easily prevented stain-fighting powders from working properly.  Every now and again Vanessa would wail about the loss of another garment because she forgot to check for stains before handing it over to the house elves for washing.  "I was merely being helpful.  You might want to hurry with that paper, Herbology begins in twenty minutes." 

There was a flicker of something in Tom's unfathomable blue-green eyes that resembled disappointment.  It passed quickly and he settled down to enjoy his paper while Drina chatted up fellow seventh years Terry Nott and Elianor Lestrange. 

* * * 

Monday classes were dreaded by the seventh year of the Serpent House.  Slytherins took both of the most lethally dull subjects Hogwarts offered on Mondays. 

Herbology might not qualify as exciting, but it at least provided an opportunity to chat while working.  History of Magic, however, was not a class favored by any Hogwarts student.  Even the most ardent Ravenclaw found it deadly boring.  Binns plodded through modern magical affairs, oblivious to the inattention of his students.  Drina idly leafed through her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ while observing Meg mentally plot Vanessa's gory demise.  The redhead had seated herself in the back of the room next to Tom and rested her head on his shoulder.  To be strictly technical, it was an open question as to whether she sat next to Riddle or on him.  Her gray and green striped tie peeked out of the front pocket of her robes, allowing Vanessa to unbutton her blouse as far as she dared in public.

Drina shook her head in mild disgust.  Rosier was lucky Binns was half blind even with his coke bottle glasses on.  She had thought Tom's taste better; but realized he was probably only interested in what lay south of Rosier's collarbone.  No one who dated Vanessa marked her mind or personality highly.  On second thought, Drina decided she was amazed it took Vanessa seven years to get to Tom: she'd been through every other attractive male in her path and seldom revisited an old conquest.

"She is going to be just awful tonight," Meg growled, shaking her head.  With her face tilted down toward her desk, her brown hair formed a curtain around her face.  "Always is just after breaking in a new conquest."

"I feel your pain," Drina whispered, smothering a grin. 

The other girl guessed her thoughts.  "You don't have to share a dormitory with her anymore." 

"My favorite part about being Head Girl, I assure you.  But if she tries to curse you again…" 

"I know, threaten her with a Disfigurement Hex."  Meg smirked.  "I think I figured out a way to make it permanent…" 

Meg and Drina had to cease their banter as Binn's watery blue eyes rested on them.  The ancient professor's hearing was far sharper than his vision.  "Ten points from Slytherin.  I expect better from a Head Girl, Miss Prewitt.  Any further conversation between you and Miss McKinnon during this class will result in further loss of house points and detention for you both." 

In front of them, Vanessa sniggered.  Drina shot her a withering look and made a mental note to add something nasty to her cosmetic potions.  She tugged a fresh sheet of parchment from her book bag with much more force than was necessary.  She despised the loss of points, more so when Rosier was a witness. 

As if sensing her thoughts with regard to his new girlfriend, Tom Riddle turned and shot her a bemused smile before turning back to Vanessa and answering one of her whispered questions with his trademark smirk firmly set on his face.

_At least I can talk about my O.W.L.s without apology_.  _In addition, no one has ever accused my family of Dark Arts involvement_.  Drina thought as she made an additional note to remind Rosier that with the right prodding the Ministry could still sniff around her family's affairs.  An inquiry would not further her chances of marrying into one of the wealthier pureblood families.  _Rosier is so obvious: her family has the blood and lineage but lacks respect and wealth.  She wants both.  The only way she can accomplish that without work is to marry into a good family.  Rather antiquated idea, but no one has ever accused Vanessa of embracing modern ideas – unless of course they suit her ends.  Tradition is just another card in her deck. _

* * * 

Drina felt ready to scream after sorting out Rose Davies.  The little first year was the only child of an Auror reported missing in action in France the week before.  She sympathized with the kid, but was only capable of providing so much reassurance.  She could not even foist the girl off on Tom anymore as the previous year she and Tom had developed an understanding that problems were divided along lines of gender.  As the firstie was a girl, she was Drina had to deal with her. 

She finally resorted to her mother's old trick of slipping a sleeping potion into a cup of hot chocolate and setting it in front of the sniffling eleven year old.  Chocolate is irresistible to children and adolescents and the girl gulped it down straight away.  It was a cheap thing to do, but Drina rationalized it as a one off and a way to save her sanity.

"Finished with your first year?" Tom's rich voice asked as Drina staggered back into the common room.  He was sprawled across the one of the green leather wing chairs with a small black book on his lap.  She could not help but notice that he had exchanged his stained shirt for a fresh one. 

"Yes, finally.  Have you finished your Transfiguration essay?" Drina asked as she sank into the chair opposite him.  She knew it was a rather blatant attempt to change the subject, but she was not yet comfortable with her actions and thus did not wish to discuss them.

Though her fellow Slytherin was too shrewd to miss her discomfort, it appeared he was willing to accommodate her for the time being.  "I finished it yesterday.  Even Dumbledore won't be able to find a single flaw in my argument.  The Ministry's position on conjured objects is positively medieval."

There was a cartload of resentment in how Tom spat Dumbledore's name.  Drina wondered what soured the relationship between the usually trusting professor and the HeadBoy.  She supposed Dumbledore was still suspicious of Tom's capture of Rubeus Hagrid the previous term.  Even she had to admit something was odd about that entire incident.  Acromantulas are not known to petrify victims; and Hagrid was a Gryffindor - and a rather dim specimen at that.  A more unlikely candidate for being the Heir of Slytherin couldn't be found.  Still, the attacks ceased after his expulsion, so if not Hagrid, then who was responsible?  Of course, with his well-known love of dangerous creatures, Hagrid would have made a convenient frame…

Drina decided she did not like where this particular thought line was pointing.  Tom Riddle was a half-blood.  Drina herself knew for a fact that he had been in Charms during the first attack and in the common room for two more.  Even the revived victims made no mention of Tom – or anyone else for that matter.  All they claimed to have seen was a reflection of glowing red eyes.  That pointed to a creature and back to Hagrid.  Still, the package of accepted events was not a neat one and it troubled her more than she cared to admit. 

"Dumbledore doesn't like you, does he," Drina asked, uncertain.  She suddenly realized that she wanted to know more about Tom Riddle both in general and last term in particular.  Mysteries always intrigued her and she suspected that Tom was on the verge of becoming her latest little intellectual obsession.

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  He kept his dark turquoise eyes fixed on hers.  They were difficult eyes to ignore, embracing the blackness of the pupils rather than contrasting with it.  "He keeps an annoying close watch on me."

"Why?"  She pressed harder. 

"He doesn't trust me," he offered with a dismissive shrug.  It was a gesture better suited to the likes of the more flippant Terry Nott.  "Can't stand to believe a Slytherin Prefect over a bumbling Gryffindor idiot.  How _did_ you manage to quiet the Davies girl?"

She recognized his unwillingness to discuss the situation further and decided to respect it.  She decided to answer his question, taking care to keep her response light.  "Judicious application of a light sleeping potion."

Drina had the distinct feeling that Tom's opinion of her was just elevated several notches.  "I wasn't aware that drugging of first years was listed in the Head Girl position requirements."

"I thought it kinder than knocking stunning her.  More dignified."

"And sleep _is_ the best healer," Tom offered with another light shrug. 

"And time eases all pain," Drina scrunched up her face in disgust as she spoke.  It was a trite cliché and Drina despised the vast majority of trite clichés but found them unavoidable at times. 

Tom sneered but not at Drina, "I despise that expression." 

"I heard it from my mother," Drina explained, tugging at a loose thread on her robes.  Thinking of her mother made her want to rend things. 

Something in her tone alerted Tom.  He had a talent for reading beyond mere words to the emotion and thoughts behind them.  "You don't sound very…fond of your mother." 

Drina pulled off her glasses and used the sleeve of her robes to clean the lenses as she spoke so she did not have to look at him.  "No, I'm not." 

Tom recognized a closed subject when he saw one.  He had certainly closed enough of his own.  Anything related to his childhood or father was taboo unless he brought the subject up, which he rarely did. 

There was a long awkward silence.  Drina despised such awkward silences and attempted to fill it.  She reverted to one of their usual topics as she slipped her glasses back on.  "I didn't ask earlier, but what's the latest news?" 

"Why don't you take out a subscription or join the queue for Meg's copy of the _Prophet_ if you are interested in the news?" 

"Meg posed the same question earlier," she said tiredly.  "Because that is what I have you and Meg for, it would kill her not to be the first one to announce amazing new developments." 

Tom smiled at that.  His smiles always fell into one of four categories: mocking, seductive, amused, or pleased.  This particular smile was a mixture of the last two. 

There was another pause in the conversation, this one more comfortable.  "Nothing extraordinary: the Ministry is indecisive and Muggles are still killing each other." 

"Wizards have wars too," Drina reminded him, thinking of the little Rose Davies and her probably dead mother.  "We're fighting one right now against Grindelwald and his forces on the Continent."

Tom's reply dripped scorn, again not directed at her.  "Grindelwald's forces are little more than a glorified cult.  Only the long complacency of the Wizarding world has elevated him to a symbol of fear." 

"The Aurors say he'll be found before the year is out." 

"That is what they tell the _Prophet_, anyway.  They may be right," Tom said with a feral grin, "but it isn't only Grindelwald they should be concerned with.  They'll never locate all his followers.  Lop of the Hydra's head and another will emerge to replace it." 

"Unless," Drina retorted as she summoned the memory of the old legend to the forefront of her mind.  Greek mythology was an interest of hers, as it was for most wizards.  "They follow the example of Hercules and cauterize the wounds with flame to prevent such a reoccurrence." 

"Touché," he allowed her the small verbal victory.  "But do you really believe the Aurors are that clever?" 

"Clever?  Possibly.  But the Ministry will act to bind the Aurors hands again once Grindelwald is defeated."  She said with a disgusted look on her face.  "It always happens that in dark times the power of the Aurors is expanded…" 

"Only to be retracted once the most visible symbol of darkness…" 

"In this case Grindelwald…" 

"Is eliminated." 

Drina shook her head sadly.  "Even Muggles are aware that history repeats itself.  Pity the Ministry is so blind." 

Tom laughed.  It was a bitter, mocking, sound, and strangely high pitched.  "They claim to be aware of history's patterns, but their actions say otherwise.  I fear the Muggle influence is contaminating _our_ world." 

Drina recalled Meg telling her of the recent slew of articles and editorials lamenting the rising percentage of wizards marrying Muggles and Muggle-borns.  Meg claimed that she could scarce find an issue without at least one.  They now outnumbered complaints on how the Ministry was handling Grindelwald. 

"_They think the world will end if a pureblood marries a Muggle_," Meg had complained.  As the product of such a union herself, Meg was particularly sensitive with regards to that subject.  Drina had already noted that Tom's feelings - despite his own half-blood status - were decidedly with those of the editorial writers.  Her own thoughts on the matter were uncertain.

To Drina's mind the panic was yet another example of history setting out a predictable pattern to which current events adhered.  Purebloods were becoming fewer, half-blood numbers rising, at a time when more Muggle-born children than ever were attending Hogwarts.  Combined with the uncertain political situation, the established families needed someone to lash out against and blame.  Halfbloods, Muggle-borns and Muggles, perennially on the lower rungs of Magical society, were a convenient and ancient scapegoat. 

It was the same everywhere.  Even some Muggles were aware, Karl Marx told them in his _Communist Manifesto_ that history was the story of class conflict.  The wealthy and powerful oppressed and feared everyone else, using elaborate justifications to retain traditional status and privilages.  It was inevitable, and would only end when the working class rose up to overthrow the established order.  No such revolution occurred anywhere but Russia and that hardly brought the utopian society envisioned by Marx.  Some cynics suggested that had Marx been in Russia during their revolution, he would have been among those purged.  

            Drina was thankful that she happened to be among the privileged. 

            Tom continued.  "Muggles spread death and destruction like rain.  Surely you have noticed the rise in conflicts in our world in the last hundred years.  Muggles and their Mudblood offspring are entering our world, contaminating the most noble bloodlines, and bring their chaos here." 

            Drina pierced him with her sharpest look, one acquired from her late father.  Alexander Prewitt wielded it like a scalpel, his daughter did not have quite the same skill but she was still young.  Generations of Prewitt wizards and witches had refined that particular expression into an art.  She made certain to use her most neutral voice as she pointed out "you yourself are a half-blood." 

            Tom appeared unruffled.  "Yes." 

            She threw his own argument back at him to experience his reaction.  Hypocrisy was not something she tolerated easily.  "By your own argument, you have brought chaos into Hogwarts as you were raised by Muggles." 

            The HeadBoy's face was a stony mask.  "I am the bucket of ice water poured on the head of the sleeping magical community." 

            "Your verbal imagery is very amusing." 

            Tom's mask slipped.  He almost seemed to be pleading with her.  With his dark blue-green eyes locked with hers, Drina finally understood what other witches saw in him.  Beyond the perfect features and blue-black hair, there was a vulnerability twinned with hunger in him that witches detected and wanted to embrace.  Of course, Vanessa was not one of them, Drina thought, she would not look beyond Tom's physical characteristics. 

            "Only one who has experienced the very worst of Muggles first hand could be fit to comment on them. And how many purebloods have a perspective such as mine?"  Tom said, with the fire of a true believer.  For a moment, the harsher accent he had worked so hard to scrub from his speech ghosted back.  It summoned the memory of the pale and frightened first year he had been.  Everything was new to him.  It was not until his second year that Tom made a visible effort to change himself from frightened London orphan to polished and articulate wizard. 

            "True, few even among the half-blood population have a perspective such as yours."  The only contact most purebloods have with the Muggle world was through those wizards and witches born to Muggle parents.  Purebloods of established families who ventured into Muggle London risked being considered eccentric – at best. 

            "I like to believe that my perspective is valuable enough to justify my years among Muggles." 

            He seldom brought up his life in London and it was best not to dwell or inquire further.  From what little she knew; it must have been most unpleasant.  "We shall see." 

            "Indeed," Tom said, his blue-green eyes darkening with anticipation, "we shall." 

            She stifled a yawn.  " I'd best be off to bed.  Tuesdays are always very busy.  I hope you have a restful night's sleep." 

            "Good night Drina, I enjoyed our discussion.  Few purebloods are willing to even address this topic.  Avoidance is preferred." 

            "It's important."  Drina insisted. 

            Tom watched her as she got to her feet and padded across the thick Persian rug to the age-darkened oak door that separated the girl's dormitories from the common room.  A notorious echo that no amount of spells could remedy plagued the dormitory hallways.  Even the heavy door could only muffle the noise.  The Head Girl room was located at the end of the hall and he could follow her footsteps until she came to her room.  When he heard Drina open and close her door, he lay back against the dyed leather chair and grinned. 

            "Much more important than even you, oh innocent Miss Prewitt know. I will have to remedy that." 


	2. Pulling the Wings Off Butterflies

"Drina Prewitt & the Time of Sacrifice"   
_Chapter Two: Pulling the Wings Off Butterflies_

Hogwarts, November 1, 1943 

Each Hogwarts house had a room set aside among the dormitories for any HeadBoy or Girl that house might produce. The room allocated to Slytherin HeadBoys was tiny, scarcely bigger than a broom closet. It contained only a narrow curtained bed, nightstand, clothes press, small desk and a single chair; but it was private. The ancient stonewalls proved resistant to space enhancing charms so Tom had to shove his trunk under his bed in order to provide room for him to walk without knocking into furniture. 

Vanessa was waiting for Tom when he returned from the common room. Though they had made no plans to meet that night, he was not surprised to find her thus: he had provided Vanessa with the password last week and knew she was not very original. Girls like Vanessa rarely had to be. Most wizards were satisfied only with their physical charms and Vanessa was an expert in the employment of those assets. She lay stretched out across the bed like a cat, the emerald green duvet contrasting nicely with her red hair. Her sheer linen nightgown covered her like moonlight and left nothing to the imagination. 

Tom Riddle, however, was not like most wizards. He allowed Vanessa to believe him to be her latest conquest, but she was only a means to an end to him. He had little experience with witches his own age in ways other than friendship. Ever since he "saved" the school, Vanessa had made it plain that she desired to bed him. He decided to take her up on her offer. 

"Tom?" Vanessa's heart shaped face turned up to his as Tom used his back to close the door behind him. She was a beautiful girl but Tom had seen many beautiful girls in his life. Even Muggles could possess physical beauty. One of the girls at his orphanage had been lovely enough to put even Vanessa's fiery beauty in the shade. That girl, Elizabeth, understood the dark aspects of beauty as much as Tom himself did. For that he would spare her when he revenged himself on his former tormentors. 

Tom was far more aware of how the world worked than most, even those thrice his age. In order to rule the world he would need an education in arts known only in nightmares or fragmented legends. Such dangerous knowledge could not be acquired easily or cheaply and he did not have much money. Earning sufficient coin himself would consume too much time. Fortunately, there was another way. 

During his summer at Hogwarts, Tom mulled over his problem until the answer finally came to him in an archaic text. His ancestors would have shaken their heads in disgust at how long it took their descendant to arrive at such an obvious conclusion – the easiest way to obtain a fortune was to _marry_ one. Tom was somewhat old fashioned with regard to marriage: he firmly believed in fidelity and honoring one's spouse; the older code of marriage before love was considered a significant factor in arranging a union. As he weighed the idea in his mind, he decided he liked the idea of having someone to share his plans with and to come home to. A wife could also give him children to carry on Salazar's noble bloodline. He was surprised by how much he wanted children, a family. He thought he had given up on that dream in the orphanage. 

Of course, the first step in creating his family was the selection of a suitable bride. His criteria were exacting and he spent the summer first considering, then eliminating possible candidates. He required an intelligent, pureblooded witch with deep pockets. A witch either already infatuated with him or who could be manipulated into falling in love with him. He desired a Slytherin but would settle for a Ravenclaw if necessary. 

His final list consisted of just three witches. Then he submitted the final three to a last test: he needed someone whose wealth was not tied into manors or property but in readily accessible gold at Gringotts. Someone already in possession of great wealth who did not have to wait for an inheritance. 

Someone like Alexandrina Victoria Prewitt. 

Drina was the ideal candidate. On only child, with her father dead she would come into her full inheritance on her seventeenth birthday. In addition, she was charming, talented, and quite pretty. She had always treated him with respect and he enjoyed spending time with her, she even appeared to actually understand him at times. He would never be able to truly love her, the other children at the orphanage had seen to that, but Tom felt confident that he would come close. He cared about how she felt, a rare thing for him. The primary difficulty would be in getting her to see him as more than a classmate. Drina had never shown any sign of romantic interest in him, a valuable trait in a friend but bothersome for his current goal. 

Tom researched romance and formulated a strategy. He experimented on a little Hufflepuff witch from Hogsmeade, charming her until she was eating out of his hand and dropping her just before school began. However, his Hufflepuff had been almost as much of a novice at courtship as he and he felt the need for greater experience. 

That was where Vanessa entered into the picture. In Tom's mind, Vanessa was little more than a classy whore, but she did know a great deal about sex. Tom was not a virgin, but his previous experiences were neither consensual nor pleasurable. He reasoned that in order to seduce Drina into marrying him, it would be best to be versed in such arts. The Hogwarts library was rather silent on sex and the few references he came across were drenched in enough flowery verse and sentiment to make him ill. 

Vanessa's voice once again intruded on his thoughts, "Tom?" 

Tom forced a seductive smile. He felt lucky only a candle on the nightstand lighted the room or Vanessa might have seen his insincerity. It was hard for him to feign affection for her at times. "Sorry, I was lost in thought." 

Vanessa frowned. It was not her most flattering expression. 

"I was contemplating your beauty," Tom continued as he glided toward her, knowing how much Vanessa appreciated such compliments. It was not even a complete lie. In his eyes she was beautiful, as a butterfly or a flower, and just as interesting. It was difficult to feign concern for her. He had to constantly remind himself of his reasons in his mind. She was too much like some of the children at the Muggle orphanage: willing to allow her good looks to be her sole vehicle forward. There were times when the features of the other Muggle children superimposed themselves over Vanessa's. 

Drina was not beautiful, her looks a cross between pretty and cute, which was how Tom preferred girls. There was an intellect behind her bespectacled blue-gray eyes that Vanessa Rosier and her like would never equal much less eclipse. Pretty women could not play the appearance card as often and were seldom arrogant without cause. He supposed Vanessa possessed some as and yet unseen depths: she was a witch and a Slytherin after all. 

Tom sat down on the bed, admiring the delicate ivory butterflies embroidered on Vanessa's nightgown. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, Tom closed his eyes and imagined she was Drina with her untidy brown-gold hair swept back in a loose bun and her glasses on the verge of sliding off her nose. He traced his fingers over Vanessa's lips, coming away with lip-gloss on his fingers. Drina never bothered with such things, another point in her favor. 

"I don't think I will ever understand you," Vanessa whispered, drawing him back to reality and shattering the illusion. 

Tom kissed Vanessa to silence, one hand moving to the tiny pearl closure of her nightgown. As she responded, he considered that, for once, she was quite correct in her assessment. 

* * * 

Drina heard Vanessa stagger back into the girl's dormitory hall at half-past three that night. She opened her door a crack to observe her classmate, planning to pop out and dish up a detention seasoned with a generous amount of sarcasm, but something stopped her. Even in the dim light provided by the redhead's wand, she could see that Vanessa's hair was askew and there were fading reddish marks on her neck. She wove around the corridor in an almost drunken stupor though Drina did not think she was drunk, Vanessa reacted poorly to alcohol and did not allow it to pass her lips. It was not at all unusual for Vanessa to return so late, but never had Drina seen her classmate so dazed and unaware of her surroundings. She even had difficulty with the door handle and the wards.

She considered the marks on her neck.  A simple healing charm, that Vanessa was more than apt in doing, would remove most bruises in seconds.  Vanessa was far too vain to dabble in anything that might risk her looks or health.  It disturbed Drina more than she cared to admit – even to herself – that Vanessa were injured beyond that charm's ability to repair.  There were healing potions for more troublesome injuries, but those contained ingredients either restricted or made scarce by the current political situation.  Madam Rend would have a supply as school nurse, but she would have kept Vanessa overnight.

It was not until the next morning, when she reexamined the situation with a clearer head, that Drina realized Vanessa had been hit with a memory charm. It was the only solution that fit all of the evidence. Drina wondered if Riddle were the culprit or if it were someone else. It was possible Vanessa came upon someone (or several someones) up to something in the common room. Last year, three third years had used a memory charm on a second year that looked in one of the oft neglected and spider filled cabinets below the bookshelves to find a cauldron full of home brew. Drina discovered it after removing the charm, but said nothing. Instead, she analyzed the contents of the caldron and added an herb that would make them ill should they drink it. The lesson was learnt. 

Drina wondered if Tom's tastes ran to contrary to Vanessa's willingness and shivered. It did not strike Drina as odd that she would suspect Tom. He lacked the galleons for most healing potions, but he did have wealthy friends and there was something very dark hidden behind his bright smile. It took one accustomed to certain forms of concealment to recognize them in use. Darkness left a legacy that if untreated could turn victim into tormentor in an endless circle of pain. 

* * * 

Vanessa liked things rough, just as Terry Nott told him. He only wished that he had not allowed things to get so out of hand that he had to heal her or risk Vanessa dying in his bed. The worst part in his mind was that he was not entirely certain what triggered his anger. One moment he saw Vanessa, the next her features blurred and rearranged into those of a pretty emerald-eyed woman he knew only from tattered nightmares. Tom did not understand why, but he felt he had to destroy her. He wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. It was only when Vanessa clawed at him, leaving bloody scratches like whip weals up and down his back that he was restored to his correct frame of mind and released his hold on the girl's neck.  Pain once again proved his salvation.  

Tom was thankful he still had some of the Gorgon blood Orion Black gave him in payment for using Polyjuice potion to take his place during the Transfiguration portion of the OWLs three years ago. Blood from the right side of the Gorgon's body could heal anything save death; blood taken from the left side was a most deadly poison. Tom stared at the two vials in his hands, marked only with an L for left and an R for right. He had already tested a tiny amount of the poison on an employee of his old orphanage his last holiday there. The man's death had been delicious. It was a pity that the children who tormented him the most were no longer there; but he would find them later. They were not worth another drop of his precious blood. 

He put the blood away in the hidden compartment of his trunk and removed a third crystal vial, unmarked this time and a quarter filled with a thick amber-colored liquid. The Alipes Potion: used to restore energy. It was not easy, or legal, to make as it required eyes and feathers of a Golden Snidget among other things. A small sip nightly reduced his need for sleep to a mere hour. He had to take great care in its use, _Moste Potente Potions_ warned of wizards going mad from too much of it. Tom restricted his intake to three or four nights a week and make certain to sleep extra long on the weekends. Now he wondered if his precautions were sufficient. 

With a sigh, he replaced the vials in his trunk and carefully slid it under the bed with his foot. None but he or those he keyed to the trunk could open it. It was a gift from the Ravenclaw Morgan Trestle, whose brother was skilled in the make of magical trunks. She gave it to him last year in exchange for a few illicit potions of a most personal nature. 

After he removed his hands from Vanessa's throat, Tom placed her under the Imperious curse – the first time he had ever tried it on a witch – to keep her still and quiet while he tended to her injuries. When he finished he cast the best potent memory charm he knew on her and shooed her off to bed. 

Alone again, he stretched out on the bed and smoothed out his rumpled duvet and sheets. He was furious with himself for losing control. He resolved to prevent a reoccurrence, wondering again if it was a side effect of the Alipes Potion. Tom sighed; he already was forced to ration it now as he was running low on both it and the active ingredient. He would have to see Malfoy about more after he extracted the two galleons Livia Trenton of Ravenclaw owed him from her moneybag. 

Tom resolved to exercise greater care in the future. 

* * * 

"Did you finish your Alchemy essay?" Drina asked Tom the next morning while Meg was absorbed in the paper. He gave no sign of having stayed up as late as Vanessa.  It occurred to her that she'd not seen him tired in years.

"All three feet." He informed her with a bright smile. Vanessa had yet to come up for breakfast and she'd decided to make the most of the opportunity, mornings and nights were really the only times they spoke for any significant length of time.  "I finished it a fortnight ago."

"What was your conclusion? I came up with dew," she asked.  Unbeknownst to herself she leaned toward a little Tom.

"That would work," Tom said thoughtfully as he speared a sausage with his fork. "I used fog." 

"Either would work," Drina agreed, studying him under her lashes. She wondered if she could find a way to ask Tom about last night, then decided it would be much too awkward. Vanessa was much easier to corner and question. Tom was as always a familiar mystery, and not one he would rack in a morning or a week.

* * * 

Vanessa was a creature of habit during daylight hours, which made it simple to waylay her outside her dormitory and drag her into the Head Girl room. Drina had elected to challenge Vanessa after Arithmancy, while Tom was in Ancient Runes with Meg and the others. 

As Drina hovered around the dormitory, waiting for Vanessa to appear, she discovered Meg seated on the floor in front of the tiny fireplace. Meg carefully removed a small branch of laurel from a small blue velvet bag and threw it onto the flames. Daphnomancy, or divination using laurel, was Meg's favorite form of divination. Divination was rumoured to be more potent around Halloween though the jury was still deliberating as to whether that was truth or fable. 

"Are the omens favorable or not?"  Drina asked.  She did not have much stock in divination.  Only the visions of true seers interested her – and despite years of attempts, Meg had never once managed a seeing trance - everything else was too open to chance and false interpretation.  She would never tell Meg, but she thought the sort of divination taught at school to be nothing more than glorified parlour tricks.

Meg did not look up at her friend. "I'm still waiting."

"What about your class?"

Meg shot her a withering look.  "I have twenty minutes yet."

"What do you want to know?"

"Whether the darkness will end soon," there was something about the way her friend spoke the word _darkness_ that turned Drina's blood to ice water.  For a moment Meg's shadowed face seemed ancient and all knowing like the descriptions of the powerful seers of old before the enemies of Merlin destroyed them.  The moment passed and she shook herself.  Lack of sleep always made her imagination overflow its banks and giving into ridiculous fantasies would not help anyone. 

Drina sat down on the edge of Meg's bed. There were very few Slytherins in their year and with her own bed removed after she became Head Girl, the dormitory was wallowing in wasted space. 

"Your laurel is burning quietly. Is that a good sign?" she asked conversationally.  Meg's divination experiments were always amusing.

Meg sighed and shook her head softly. She pointed to her open divination book on the floor beside her. "If the laurel crackles in the fire the tidings are good. If it burns quietly, tidings are bad." 

"Bad tidings then." 

"So it would appear," Meg said in her most neutral tone.  She was more than well aware of how her friend felt about signs and portents.  "But then I didn't really expect anything else: I told you about

Drina slid off the bed and got to her feet. Vanessa was due to appear soon.  "Don't be too quick to place bets on that outcome. Your laurel's been kept for months under your bed with a preserving charm. It might affect how it burns." 

"It shouldn't, though fresh laurel is preferred." 

Meg took out another branch. 

"Going to see if love is in your future?" Drina teased.  To her way of thinking, Daphnomancy was about as reliable as a coin toss.

Again, Meg shook she head. "I would not lower myself by asking something so trivial. If I am to have love in my life, I will. If not, I will cope. I want to know whether I will be able to join the Cecropian Order."  The Cecropian order was a group of Slytherin alumni founded not long after Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts. They were renowned for their skills at divination and their interpretations of ancient prophesies and visions. They took their name from Cecrops, a legendary half-serpent Athenian king. Many believed parselmouths – the great Salazar himself among them - were descended from his ill-fated royal house.

Mostly, though the Cecropian Order watched for darker variants of Divination.  A true Seer did not need to force a vision, but prophesies and glimpses of the future did not come on call.  It was possible to induce a vision, but that was very dark magic.  There were rumours swirling about that Grindelwald's pet seer required the life of a witch's unborn child to force her visions.

Oblivious to the dark path taken by her friend's thoughts, Meg tossed the second branch on the fire. This time it began to crackle and hiss. 

"You have your answer," Drina noted, glad of the distraction.  She resolved to go to bed early before she started daydreaming of Grindelwald using the Unforgivable Curses in the school corridors.  "I hope it proves true." 

Meg's brown eyes were unreadable. "So do I."

Then Meg glanced down at her watch and frowned. "I have to be off, see you at dinner." 

"Have a good class," Drina called out as her friend gathered up her books and scurried from the room.

Drina resisted the urge to pull her robes tighter around her.  With Meg gone the room seemed very much colder, as though death's fingerprints somehow touched it.

"I'll turn in after dinner," she promised herself aloud.

Not five minutes after Meg left, Vanessa opened the door to the dormitory. Drina leapt up and grabbed her by the arm. Vanessa was too surprised to put up much of a struggle and the Head Girl was able to maneuver her classmate out the hall and into her own small room where they could be assured of privacy. 

Once the door was firmly closed behind them, Drina leaned against the ancient oak door, arms crossed over her chest and wand out. She pinned her one-time roommate with what she hoped was her most penetrating stare. Vanessa wilted under her gaze but recovered quickly. 

"What do you want, Prewitt," Vanessa sneered. "If it isn't good, I'm going to report you to the headmaster." 

"What do you remember from last night?" 

"Last night," Vanessa repeated, startled. Then she grinned. "I remember _loads_ of things. Most of them are not fit for innocent ears such as yours." 

"I _saw_ you. You had bruises on your neck and acted as though you had been recently Obliviated." 

The other girl laughed. "My poor little Drina, I'd tell you what I was doing but…it isn't proper to kiss and tell." 

The shorter witch did not back down. "It is my job as Head Girl to inquire when there is reasonable suspicion of one student using a memory charm on another." 

"I see what this is about," Vanessa purred, slipping effortlessly into what Meg referred to as her 'bitchy cat' mode. "You are jealous. I've seen how you look at Tom. I'm warning you – do not interfere with me or my boyfriend again." 

The other girl straightened until her spine was more rigid than the door behind her. "Is that a threat?" 

"A promise," Vanessa purred.

"I'll make a note of it," Drina said as she opened the door for Vanessa to leave. "Now, get out of my room. You add nothing to the décor."

* * * 

Alchemy was not her favourite class – Transfiguration (even if it was taught by the absurdly cheerful head of Gryffindor) took that honour.  No, alchemy was a challenge.  Unfortunitly the class roll contained many names who were not up to that challenge and Professor Hermes constantly had to repeat himself.

"Some people have no imagination," Tom muttered to her as Hermes tried to answer a question posed by a Ravenclaw who displayed little of her house's reputed wit and cleverness.

The lone comment sparkled Drina's imagination – toned down to an acceptable after a decent night's sleep.

_Known Facts on Tom Riddle_

_- Half-blood: Muggle father; witch mother._

_- Mother: Melissandre Serthylin died of complications of childbirth, November 12, 1926._

_- Father: Thomas Riddle. Living but refuses to involve himself with his son._

_- Raised in Muggle orphanage, apparently an unhappy experience._

_- Savior of the school:, caught Rubeus Hagrid with creature presumed to be an Acromantula._

_- Won Magical Merit award for OWL scores._

_- HeadBoy._

_- Powerful magically._

_- Studies constantly, but grades more attributable to brillance than hard work._

_- Interested in current events._

_- Poor._

_- Currently involved with Vanessa Rosier._

_- No close friends. Keeps own council._

Drina stuck the tip of her quill in her mouth as she studied the list scribbled on the bottom of her Alchemy notes. It was rather brief considering how long she and Tom had known each other. After a moment of contemplation, she made an addition. 

_- Very mysterious and interested in philosophy._

She raised her head from the parchment and stared hard at Tom. He sat to the right of her and appeared to be completely absorbed in the conversation between Professor Hermes and Gryffindor student Morgan Fletcher.  The quality of his smile told her that he was amused by the exchange.

"So you see, Mr. Fletcher, ancient alchemists often obscured their work out of fear." Hermes explained for the eighth time. Most of the students watched the professors patience wear away with amusement and not just a little curiosity at what would happen to Fletcher. Hermes did not suffer stupidity gladly, but he was also under great pressure to raise his student's NEWT scores. Alchemy was said to be the most difficult of all the examination, both written and practical.  "When Flamel created his philosopher's stone, the discipline came under intense scrutiny from the Ministry." 

"I can understand that, Professor," Fletcher insisted. "What I don't understand is how you can take obtuse directions such as 'half an ounce of humidity' and come up with dew." 

It took every ounce of Drina's composure not to burst out laughing. She wondered why Fletcher kept with this class; he had no talent for the subject. She supposed it was another example of Gryffindor stubbornness – the peculiar form often misinterpreted as bravery. 

She made another note about Tom. 

_- Either extremely patient or good at feigning patience._

As Hermes answered, Drina's mind drifted again. 

* * * 

Drina had just made her obligatory appearance at the Transfiguration Club meeting (she was supposed to be Vice President) and was heading back to her room when she heard footsteps behind her. After a few turns – she was taking a rather meandering route back to Slytherin - she realized she was indeed being followed. She slipped her hand into her pocket and removed her wand before whirling around with lightening speed. 

It was Tom. He halted in the middle of the hallway and studied her. His blue-green gaze was almost a spoken question.

She did not lower her wand slowly. Being followed annoyed her a great deal. "Yes?" 

Her irritation slipped down him like rain drops on window glass. "Did something happen between you and Vanessa?" he asked mildly.

Drina tilted her head slightly. Her weariness impaired her ability to deliver a truly searching gaze, but what she could muster put any Hufflepuff or Gryffindor to shame. "Why are you so curious?" 

Tom favored her with a brilliant smile. "I have a vested interest in our house. A house divided against itself cannot stand – much less win the House Cup." 

Drina looked him over again, trying to glean further information from his body language. As usual, she came away with little: Tom was as revealing as a marble sculpture. 

"Nothing out of the ordinary occurred between us. Vanessa and I are hardly friends…as you may have noticed." Drina reminded him tartly. 

"Indeed," Tom noted. To Drina, he appeared to be almost laughing. 


	3. Roses For Remembrance

Author's Note: Meg's song is _Taking a Chance on Love_ by Benny Goodman.

**"Drina Prewitt & the Time of Sacrifice"**

**Chapter Three: Roses For Remembrance**

November 11, 1943 

From her month long obsession with detective novels – something Meg would never forget -  Drina knew that the first step in any investigation of a person was to see what the official sources had to say about them.  The Ministry of Magic was notorious for the detailed nature of its records; unfortunately most of these began when one finished school or committed a crime, everything else was heavily spelled and restricted to certain Ministry employees.  As Tom was still a student and had not received so much as a detention, much less run afoul of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under Aged Magic; there was little more than his name and date of birth in the official records.

A firm believer in running with what she had, Drina did not permit the brevity of the files to daunt her.  She incorporated the scanty information into her slowly developing dossier on him.  After she recalled that his mother died birthing him, she wondered if it might be possible to discover more about the son by researching the parents.  There turned out to be an abundance of information on Thomas Riddle Sr., but none of it enlightening.  Drina doubted she could ever comprehend why Aerope Marvolo agreed to marry him.  He seemed a prat to her, but she acknowledged that she had the benefits of both distance and hindsight.

_People in love are not rational,_ her father had been fond of saying.  Lacking first person experience with love, Drina accepted his words.

Aerope Riddle nee Marvolo proved almost as much of an enigma as her son.  Her apparation license marked the only other entry aside from her ten OWLs, birth record, and death certificate.  The seventeenth anniversary of her passage beyond the veil – and her son's coming of age – was only a few days away.

She decided to try the newspapers next.  Here too there was depressingly little about Tom Riddle to be found.  A brief article about his exceptional OWL results and another much longer story about his saving of the school last term, but even it contained nothing revelatory.  Then again, she had not expected anything of the sort from _The Daily Prophet_.

What she found on his mother in the papers was more interesting for the lack of information.  1926 was a dull year for news – the biggest story was a reported sighting of a rare Norwegian Ridgeback in Kent.  Why then was the deliciously tragic tale of a witch first abandoned by the Muggle husband, then forced to live in abject poverty, and finally dying in childbed given a scant five sentences on a back page?  The article described her late father, Catreus Marvolo, in greater detail than Aerope herself.  The silence was almost deafening.

Drina wondered if the Ministry had some reason decided to suppress the story, but quickly discarded that notion.  In 1926 old Alan Dearborn ran the paper and he was firm in his belief that only great need for secrecy merited suppression of the press.  Then, under him, _The Daily Prophet_ had been something.  Each year that followed under the command of his son (a former Hufflepuff) brought the Prophet closer to being a mouthpiece of the Ministry.

She brushed the tip of her quill across the paper.  The reason for the lack of news regarding Aerope could be appallingly mundane: a simple oversight or insufficient time to prepare the story.  The simplest explanation usually proved true, but Drina found herself unwilling to accept it.  Everything she was told her that something else was going on and she was determined to discover just what that was, even if her sources were rapidly dwindling down to one – Tom Marvolo Riddle himself.

* * *

            From his birth certificate, Drina knew that Tom's birthday approached.  Never one to share much of himself, it did not surprise her that he kept the date to himself.

_            After all_, she thought as she perused the volumes in the tiny Hogsmeade bookshop, _its' also the day his mother died.  Birth and death hand in hand – a most potent combination.  Unlucky if one is superstitious, but potent._  His reticence provided her with the perfect opportunity to surprise Tom and soften his armour a little.  He would not be expecting a birthday gift from her – and definitely not something tied to his mother's family.

Thus, she decided to spend part of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term finding an appropriate gift for him.  She knew straightaway that it would be a book by his grandfather, which was why she'd come to Bronwyn's Bemused Bookshop.

            She had to climb the rickety oak ladder to reach the books on the upper shelves, where the sales wizard indicated the Marvolo books would be.  There were two of Catreus Marvolo's books gathering dust; she cast a quick dust dispelling charm before noting the titles.  She frowned as she realized the books were actually just different printings of the same work.  She pulled the more ornate copy down and opened it to ascertain the edition.

            Outside the shop, Meg ignored the chilly November afternoon and had her cloak draped over her arm.  She was laughing at something a tall blonde boy was saying to her.

            Intrigued, Drina leaned closer to the window.  _Is that who I think it is…_

            "A little light bedtime reading Prewitt?"  Vanessa jeered.

            "I'm surprised to see you in a bookshop, the apothecary shop is next store." Drina replied, lowering her voice to a whispered that nevertheless carried through the narrow confines of the shop.  From her place on the ladder she was finally able to look down on Vanessa.  "Or have you purchased their entire supply of Royal Manchurian Ginseng?"

            Royal Manchurian Ginseng was the principle ingredient in a Stimulating Potion.  It was an old and tired joke that dull and unattractive wizards and witches needed it to get laid.

            To her credit, Vanessa did not flush, but glared.  She reached up and plucked the book from Drina's grasp.  "_Celtic Runes and Spellcasting: A New Analysis_ by Catreus Marvolo.  I wasn't aware that you were taking NEWT level Ancient Runes."

            "I'm not," Drina said as she took the book back.  "This is a gift for a friend."

            "McKinnon prefers divination," Vanessa drawled.  "Wouldn't she enjoy something with loads of pictures of soggy tea leaves for her to squint at?"

            "Meg's birthday is in August," the brunette corrected automatically.  "This is for someone else."

            "Catreus Marvolo, wasn't he Tom's grandfather?"  Vanessa asked, having determined just who that someone was by simple process of elimination.  Slytherins seldom socialized with those of other houses.

            "Your powers of observation astound me."  Drina climbed down the last few rungs of the ladder.  She would have handed on Vanessa's toes, but the other girl moved her feet out of the way in time.

            "When is Tom's birthday?"  Vanessa demanded.

            "He's your boyfriend, don't you know?"  She asked sweetly as she moved past Vanessa and slid the book across the counter toward the wizard behind the till.  He followed their conversation with his eyes.

            Vanessa frowned at her.  It was not her most becoming expression and she knew it.  "Yes, Drina, _I'm_ his girlfriend."

            "And _I'm_ his friend.  You don't have a monopoly on his life."

            "I want to throw him a party."  It was amazing that someone who so long ago abandoned innocence could appear to be six years old, even for a moment, but the red haired girl managed.  She even echoed the whinge of a child demanding sweets perfectly.

            "Somehow I doubt he would appreciate that."

            "Nonsense," Vanessa said as she flicked a stray streamer of red hair back behind her ear.  "Everyone loves a party."

            "It's also his mother's death day," she reminded her quietly.

            "All the better to provide him a distraction."

            "If it were me…"

            Vanessa shot her an amused look.  "If it were your mother, you'd be celebrating."

            Drina opened her mouth to protest, but quickly closed it again.  Much as she hated to admit it, Vanessa was right: she would not mourn but celebrate her mother's passing.  However, Tom Riddle seemed to love the mother he'd never known.

            "Seven galleons, Miss," the sales wizard asked, sensing a lull in the argument and holding out his hand.  Drina fished the required coins from her purse.  When she sought Vanessa out again, the other witch was gone.

            "Damn," she muttered to herself.  Now she had the unenviable choice of playing dumb and risking Vanessa letting slip the source of her information or warning Tom.

"I might as well be caught between Scylla and Charybdis," she grumbled to herself as she left the shop to collect Meg, letting the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

            On the morning of Tom's birthday, Drina slipped a brown paper wrapped parcel into her book bag before she went down to breakfast.  Meg – well briefed and consulted as to the situation - kept her ears tuned to her fellow Slytherins while her eyes remained fixed on an article regarding the situation on the Continent.

            "444 British Bombers attacked Berlin yesterday," Meg informed her as she sat down.

"Lovely, could you please pass the pumpkin juice," Drina said.  "Thank you."

            "Did you hear?" Tom asked with a strange excitement in his voice that distracted her from her plan of action.  "Two Aurors were killed last night."

            "Three were killed last week," countered Drina.  She wondered what it was about the news that ignited Tom.

            Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face because Tom leaned forward, his voice slipping easily into a conspiratorial whisper.  "But these were no greenhorns like the others; and the bodies were found near the Ministry itself.  There is talk among the professors that Dumbledore may be recalled as an Auror to help fill the void left by all the recent losses."

            Drina raised an eyebrow, and turned to observe the staff table.  Professor Dippet appeared strained and pale, not quite as bad as the previous term when Myrtle Jacobs died, but close.  Dumbledore himself was not present.  Drina was of two minds about him: on the one hand he could be very annoying and was Head of Gryffindor; but he was also a master of Transfiguration - her favourite subject - and many other, more subtle magics.  It would not be easy to replace him and she did not wish to see some twit she remembered as a student teaching the class.

            She slid a hand in her bag and pulled out the book.  It made a soft thud as she set it on the table.

            "Happy Birthday," she said, her mind still weighing the pros and cons of school without Dumbledore.

            Tom raised an eyebrow but made no move to open the gift.

            "Are you going to open it or just admire my brilliant wrapping job?"

            Tom untied the green yarn bow and sought out the seams of the paper with his long fingers.  Had it been Drina given a gift, she would have ripped the paper off.

            "This is by Catreus Marvolo," an awed Tom said.  He gently brushed the pads of his fingers over his grandfather's name.  It suddenly occurred to her that the book was his first genuine contact with his ancestor.  "Thank you Drina."

            She smiled at him.  "You're welcome."

            Her smile waned as she considered how to warn Tom without being specific enough to incite Vanessa's wrath.

            Tom noted her expression.  "What is wrong?"

            She tapped the book and nodded at the vacant seat usually occupied by Vanessa.  Tom's eyebrows knitted together, puzzled.

            "I'm not _party_ to anything," Drina said, stressing the word slightly.

            "Oh?" Tom asked, his eyes darkening with anger.  "When is the prefect meeting tonight?"

            Both knew there was not one scheduled until next week.  "Seven o'clock."

            "Thank you Miss Prewitt," Tom answered, rising from his seat and sliding the book into his bag.  "There is something I must clarify with Vanessa."

            When he had left, Meg studied her friend over the top of the paper.  "Will Vanessa figure out you alerted him?"

            Drina shook her head.  "If she asks, I plan to blame certain indiscrete fourth years."

            Meg smirked: two of the fourth year girls were Vanessa's cousins.

* * *

            Drina noticed straightaway that Tom and Vanessa did not sit together in History of Magic or Herbology.

            After only five minutes, Professor Spade – the head of Ravenclaw – was summoned from class to deal with a hysterical first year.  She left Drina and Tom in charge.  Tom focused on his own plant to the exclusion of all else and Drina only bothered with discipline when someone she disliked was involved.

_After all_, she thought, _what is the point of being Head Girl if I can't abuse the power every now and again__._

            "Fly in the ointment Rosier?" chirped Ravenclaw Celia Cheltenham who had never forgiven Vanessa for first playing with, then discarding, her older brother.  "Or are you being investigated for prostitution?  Wait that requires payment for services rendered..."

            "Maybe you should start..." Celia's partner Justin Winchester added.  Justin had been one of Vanessa's early conquests - before he determined that his preferences resided largely within his own gender. 

            With males Vanessa would be subtle, but with her own kind she had the effect of fingernails dragged slowly across a chalkboard.  Meg and Drina enjoyed watching other witches annoy Vanessa; both agreed that sooner or later one would scoop our her innards with a spoon - Meg often voiced her preference that the spoon be silver and embossed with the Rosier family crest.  Drina was less discriminating though she felt Meg's idea held artistic merit.

            "Sod off," Vanessa snarled back.  When undefended by her fellow serpents, Vanessa was fair game to all comers.  She was not very effective: every girl at school knew that this was one Slytherin whose bite was less toxic than her bark.  She was also predictable: even some Hufflepuffs could determine her next move.

            "Or what," retorted the Ravenclaw, "you'll sic your pet owl on me?"

            "I would never subject my own owl to such an indignity," Vanessa retorted.

"She sounds depressed to me," noted Meg gleefully.  "Life not treating you as you feel it ought?"

Vanessa glared at her.

"Perhaps she needs a song," Celia suggested.  "Pity I can't sing well enough to lift your broken spirits."

"How about this," Meg offered.  Vanessa detested Muggle music so Meg took every opportunity to serenade her with it.

_"Here I go again;  
I hear those trumpets blow again;  
All aglow again - taking a chance on love.  
Here I slide again;  
About to take that ride again;  
Starry eyed again - taking a chance on love.  
  
I thought the cards were a frame-up  
I never would try.  
But now I'm taking the game up  
And the ace of hearts is high.  
  
Things are mending now;  
I see a rainbow blending now;  
We'll have our happy ending now  
Taking a chance on love."_

The rest of the class clapped as Meg stood and took a bow.  Vanessa leaned over her work, allowing her long hair to form a curtain around her face.

"You even managed to sing that on key," Drina noted, impressed.  Her own singing ability usually inspired people to be elsewhere or conjure earmuffs.

Meg focused on Vanessa.  "She'll try to get me back.  Public humiliation demands retribution – but it was fun!"

Drina shrugged.  "Indeed, subtlety thy name is not Vanessa."

* * *

            A few days later Drina entered her old dormitory in search of Meg's History of Magic notes and found Vanessa propped up against the pillows on her bed going through a rather unrealistic stack of flash cards.  It surprised her to realize that her usually work-shy classmate was actually attempting to learn German. 

            "_Zauberstab_.  Wand."  The card turned a vibrant violet never intended by nature; reverting back to green only after Vanessa corrected her pronunciation.

            "Family on the Continent?" Drina asked as she shuffled through Meg's things.  Meg did not date her notes, simply tossing them in piles.  Usually the more recent notes were near the top, but there was a test coming up and in revising for it all her notes were out of order.  At least she knew the pages she sought were decorated with little drawings of a witch who looked remarkably like Vanessa on a rack.  Meg tended to illustrate her notes and she wasn't a bad artist – certainly better than Drina herself.  Even stick figures eluded her.

            "My third cousin Edgar married into a German family.  I can never pronounce their name," Vanessa said calmly, breaking Drina's train of thought.  She did not look up from her cards.  "Terry, however, has loads of cousins in Germany.  He says he wants to take me there on our wedding trip."

            The other girl paused.  This was very fast, even for Vanessa.  "Wedding trip?"  Drina repeated.  "Terry?  I thought you and Tom…"

            The red head waved her hand dismissively.  "A passing fancy, nothing more.  Terry's intentions are very honourable towards me."

            "Ah, so you and Terry are back together again."  _No wonder she's speaking to me again_, Drina thought.  _Terry and I are second cousins once removed through his mother_.  _Don't want to offend future in-laws too badly – especially the wealthy ones._

            Vanessa smirked at Drina over her cards.  She did not so much talk as insult or brag to other witches.  "Plan on setting your sights on Tom now that he's free?  I don't blame you Drina, he's attractive and rather… _skilled_."

            The Head Girl felt best not to respond, preferring to shuffle through Meg's papers at a somewhat faster rate.  After an embarrassing incident last year involving a truth potion, Vanessa knew she was a virgin.  Drina did not hold to Victorian notions of virtue; she simply had yet to be sufficiently interested in anyone.  Most of the time, romance seemed a distraction and bother.

            "Of course he is rather poor," Vanessa continued.

            "Unlike some," Drina replied sweetly, "I don't need a wealthy husband.  I have my own fortune."  If Vanessa was willing to open that particular door then who was she to slam it shut without poking around a little.

            Today however, jibes at her family's finances appeared to slide right off Vanessa. "Tom was naught but a pleasant memory."

            "And a smile on your face Terry will never quite understand."

            Again, Vanessa displayed her prowess at selective hearing.  "His prospects are better than Toms, HeadBoy though he may be."

"In other words, all looks and galleons but no brains," Meg cut in from the doorway.  Her arms were laden with a tall stack of library books that she unceremoniously dumped on her bed.

"A bit late to bother about your education," the brunette said, noting the flash cards in the other witch's hands.

"I'm learning German," Vanessa said as she picked up a new card - _schwachsinnig_.  She took a leaf from Drina's book and made her voice sweet as honey and thrice as sticky.  "So that when the Germans crush the Axis, I'll be able to converse with Britain's new Muggle rulers."

Meg's brown curls shook with laughter.  "Even your insults betray your ignorance.  The Germans are part of the _Axis_ powers.  Britain is part of the _Allies_."

Vanessa glared at her for a moment, then laughed.  "I believe that you are simply jealous."

Meg startled.  "Why would I be jealous of you?"

"I have a boyfriend."

"Another one?"  Meg rolled her eyes.  "You go through wizards faster than most Hufflepuffs change their socks."

"It's Terry Nott again."  Drina informed her friend before Vanessa could say anything.

"I'll offer him my condolences later," Meg said promptly.

"You," Vanessa drawled, "are simply jealous that I have a boyfriend."

Meg shot her an amused look.  "I have a boyfriend as well.  And he's a lot better than Terry Nott!"

This was news to both Drina and Vanessa.  Drina stopped shuffling papers and Vanessa put down her flash cards.  Meg did not often admit to involvement with a particular male – she believed that ones personal relationships were no one else's business.  Part of the reason she so disproved of Vanessa was her eagerness to flaunt her conquests.

"Who?" Drina demanded.  She steeled herself to be stunned.  Meg must be involved with someone very impressive.

Meg smirked as she summoned her hairbrush off the top of her dresser and ran it through her thick brown curls.  "Edmund Malfoy."

Vanessa had the expression of one who has just swallowed a porcupine.  Drina, however, was very impressed.  Edmund Malfoy had discriminating tastes – he'd been one of the few to make it plain to Vanessa that he considered her unworthy of his time.  

"You're lying," Vanessa sputtered.  That her half-blood housemate succeeded where she had failed obviously rankled, which explained to Drina why Meg breached her own boyfriend policy.

"Am I?" Meg purred.  "Go ask Edmund."

After Vanessa stormed out a moment later, Drina asked, "I take it that Edmund is a new development?"

"Very new," Meg confirmed.

"But a Malfoy…" Drina shook her head.  "That lot is rabid about purity of blood."

Meg shrugged.  "We're seventeen and neither of us are seeking a marriage partner right now.  Besides Edmund is a younger son, his inheritance comes from his Mum's family.  His father can't cut him off for dating me so Edmund feels freer to explore his options than he might otherwise."

Drina was dying to know the veracity of a certain rumour she'd heard about the Malfoy men.  "Is it true, what they say about Malfoys…"

Meg coloured a little.  "In general or Edmund in particular?  I think the Malfoys in general earned their reputation as poor lovers because their personality so repelled so many potential partners!  Edmund, however, is another story."

"Oh?"

Her lips quirked.  "He takes after his mum's family."

* * *

A few hours later when Drina returned Meg's notes to her, she found Vanessa was still at her flash cards though she seemed to be going through them at a somewhat faster pace than before.

When she re-entered the common room, she found Tom seated on the couch reading the book she gave him for his birthday.

Drina meant to take one of the chairs by the fire, but Tom called out to her as she watched by him.

"Why don't you sit here?" Tom asked, gesturing to the empty space on the couch next to him.

It seemed a reasonable request – and she did enjoy talking to him.  Perhaps she'd even be able to glean a little more information about him.  She didn't yet want all the answers – it was the pursuit rather than the revelation that interested her.  She sat down on the other end of the couch.

"I appreciate your warning about the 'prefect meeting,'" he said, offering her a vibrant smile that put her on edge.  She recognized it as his seductive smile – she'd seen it before, but never directed at her.  The smile and what lay behind it put her off balance.

"Forewarned is forearmed," Drina shrugged, carefully looking just above his eyes.  There was something in his gaze that was too warm for comfort.

"Indeed," he said as he smiled at her again, making Drina very aware of his sudden availability.  It took all of her willpower not to blush.  She'd known him for seven years, why only now was she feeling like this?

"Have you ever seen the Encirclement spell in print?"  Tom asked, turning the book in her direction.  After a moment, he moved closer, presumably to facilitate her reading.

She knew what he was doing, but could not refrain from reading the section he indicated.  The Encirclement spell was barred from appearing in print since 1898.  Books already in print were exempt.

When she looked up from the page, she was surprised by how close he was now sitting to her on the couch.  He leaned over to point out a detail of the spell.  His eyes met hers, their faces were just inches apart and for a moment Drina was certain he was going to kiss her.  What surprised her was that she wanted him to.  Close as they were, she could smell the lingering traces of the rosemary and mint potion he used to clean his hair.

Though she had yet to cross the line most used to differentiate innocence from experience, Drina was far from being unsullied.  Her stepfather had seen to that.  She was always careful to clamp down on those memories, nightmarish moments before her cousin intervened and took her to live with him, memories that tainted every physical encounter.  She might have experimented with boys in her fourth and fifth years, but that was born more of a need to replace old memories than genuine desire.  No one had ever made her feel what she'd observed in others – except now, for Tom – and it made her very uncomfortable.  She couldn't help but wonder when the faintly sick dizziness that trailed her other attempts at romance would set in.

She also wondered if this would be the time the dizziness wouldn't come.  It was an exhilarating and terrifying thought.  The sheer potential of the moment made her feel as though she were drowning.

She had to leave.  She mumbled a vague excuse, the words tumbled into each other and she hated her lapse of dignity.  She revealed far too much to Tom in that moment, but there was no help for it.

"Yes it is," Tom said, amused, drawing back.  "Another time, perhaps."

"Yes, another time," Drina replied as she stood up.  She managed to walk to her room at a normal pace.  _I will not act like a giddy little Gryffindor, I will not act like a giddy little Gryffindor, _she told herself firmly.  It seemed much easier said than done.

Sleep evaded her that night, and as she tossed and turned in her bed, her father's words about love and rationality echoed in her mind.  She was not in love with Tom, but feared she was on a path that could lead to that outcome.


End file.
